


Needing/Getting

by Pwpical (Sphealrical)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manipulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sphealrical/pseuds/Pwpical
Summary: Martin and Elias are interrupted while they fool around in the archives. Elias does not think it's a problem.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 12
Kudos: 208





	Needing/Getting

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written for a good friend and posted with permission!!

There are many ethical and moral reasons why one shouldn’t sleep with one’s boss, all of which are easily scraped out of Martin’s mind by the way Elias works his teeth across Martin’s Adam's apple. Elias backs him up until he’s forced to sit on the edge of a desk in the archives. He’s pretty sure it’s Tim’s, but Elias digs his nails in the meat of Martin’s thigh and pulls Martin’s leg between both of his, and there’s another thought dashed away.

They’ve already gotten Martin’s chest bare—Elias gripping the back of Martin’s neck and tilting his head up with one hand and trailing the other up Martin’s side to thumb at his nipple with the other—and Martin’s fingers work at the buttons of Elias’s vest, pushing it from his shoulders. He untucks Elias’s undershirt, and this time, Elias undoes his own buttons, freeing up Martin’s hands to comb his fingers through Elias’s hair and claw at the back of his shoulders.

“My, my,” Elias says, pulling his shirt open and shrugging it off with Martin’s help. Martin moves to untie Elias’s corset, but Elias grabs Martin’s wrists and pins them on the desk by his thighs. “Someone’s handsy tonight.”

Martin squeaks, and Elias swings his knees up to straddle Martin’s lap over Tim’s desk. He shoves Martin’s shoulders hard enough to push him to lie on his back, and Martin’s hands come up to either side of his head out of muscle memory.

Elias smiles down at Martin: proud and amused. His hand slips to his fly, and he makes a show of dragging the tongue of the zip down.

The familiar click of a brass knob turning catches both of their attention, and one of Elias’s hands jolts to pin Martin down by the shoulder, even as the heavy door to the archives opens.

Martin hopes beyond hope that it’s not Tim. He’ll die of embarrassment even before Tim has the chance to hold it over his head that he caught Martin about to bang their boss on  _ his _ desk.

Jon walking through the door is such a worst case scenario that it doesn’t register, immediately, that it’s what happens. Jon strides into the archives, head buried in a file, and Martin’s brain copes by telling him “this can’t be happening, so it mustn’t be.”

Elias clears his throat, and Jon startles. Jon locks eyes with Martin and freezes, and reality kicks in.

Jon and Martin blink at each other. Elias seems content to let them balk.

“It’s—” Martin squeaks, and just that single word is explosive with the tense airs choking him. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Elias clicks his tongue, and both Jon and Martin startle.

“Now, now.” Elias’s voice drips with his grin. “It’s no good to lie to your superior like that, Martin.” 

Elias leans down slowly, keeping his weight on the hand pinning Martin’s shoulder down. Jon watches the creeping movement, but Martin can’t take his eyes off of Jon.

Elias fastens his mouth on Martin’s pulse point, and Martin’s eyes flutter closed on the moan Elias sucks out of him. His whole body arches up for some scrap of Elias’s warmth, and a drop of shame blooms in his gut at the sharp breath from across the room.

“Besides,” Elias says, free hand trailing its way down Martin’s side, “Jon doesn’t seem to mind. Do you?”

“I didn’t know anyone else was here. I can—”

Elias pushes back up, holding himself so he looms over Martin’s body, his frame blocking the nearest light and casting Elias’s features in chiaroscuro intensity. He’s severe, and he’s so immeasurably hot for it. Worst off: he knows this.

Even so, Martin can’t take his eyes off Jon, who’s staring at him in turn. His eyes scan the length of Martin’s body, every dip and curve of his bare chest and trousers, dark eyes drinking in every detail. He wants to reach for Jon and reassure him that there isn’t anything substantial between him and Elias. In the throws of Elias’s hands on him, slipping his free hand below Martin’s waistband, Martin’s body craves some physical reassurance that Jon is really here. His arms ache to reach for Jon and have Jon thread their fingers and kiss his knuckles. 

Martin’s thought about Jon walking in on him and Elias—dreamed about it, actually—but he’s sure now that it’s happened that he must look so flustered and pathetic. He can’t imagine how he thought—

Elias grinds the cleft of his ass back against the tent in Martin’s pants, and Martin’s body jolts into a whine, his foot climbing the side of the desk to chase the feeling.

“I chose the right person to take the role of archivist, it seems,” Elias says, like he’s not also shirtless and practically riding Martin’s lap. “So content to watch, aren’t you?”

Elias slides the hand he’d been pinning Martin with down his bicep and up the bend in his arm to thread his fingers through Martin’s. He lifts the hand briefly, brushing a kiss across the back of Martin's knuckles, before pinning it back down by Martin's ear. He doesn’t need to—Martin’s not much of a clinger—but it’s about the fact that he can hold Martin down that gets Elias off, and Martin doesn’t pay it much mind usually. Now, though, with Jon’s gaze burning the side of his head, he feels claimed by it. Jon’s eyebrows furrow.

Elias continues, calm as can be. “You don’t mind him watching, do you, Martin?”

“I, u— uh—” Elias rolls his hips again, and Martin goes cross-eyed. His head lolls side to side, landing Jon’s in the center of his vision again. Jon, with his stare that could brand Martin with its intensity and leaves him flayed open and exposed  _ without _ adding an element of sex to it.

God, he really wants Jon to stay.

“Sorry,” Martin tells Jon. “I didn’t think you’d—” Elias pinches Martin’s chest, and Martin’s heel drags along the wood grain. He muffles a keen by biting down on his lip, and powers through whatever Elias is trying to do. “We can move if—”

“How long has this been going on?” Jon blurts out. It sounds like it’s for Elias. It sounds like a challenge.

There’s something weird going on. Sure, Jon was blasé when he’d caught Martin without trousers, but this is nothing like that.

The question was clearly directed at Elias, but Martin finds himself answering anyway. “Not very— we can move, it’s really no—”

“Now, now,” Elias tsks again. He starts a regular rhythm with his hips: rolling in sinful little circles that pull gasps from Martin even with the lessened friction of their trousers and pants in the way. “Tell him the truth, Martin.”

The order jolts down Martin’s spine, and he gasps with it.

“We’ve been having sex in the archives a few times a month for at least a year now,” he babbles. Elias rewards him with another hard grind, and the next words wedge through gritted teeth. “We usually use your office, but the door was locked and I was too impatient to let Elias go to his office for the key.”

Martin’s gasps fill the archives in the pause. His hips start rolling up to meet Elias of their own accord. Martin’s face burns, but he doesn’t want to stop, and he can’t make himself look away from Jon’s frustratingly unreadable expression.

“My office?” Jon asks weakly.

“He likes to imagine I’m you, I take it,” Elias says. “Isn’t that right?”

The tingling along his spine rips to life again. “Yes. Not always. I like thinking of banging you while Elias watches, but also just the thought of you using your desk and not knowing.” 

Why can’t he shut  _ up? _

A crack resounds in the room, and Jon startles. He stares agape at the pen he’s snapped in half, now weeping ink onto his hand.

Elias smiles down at Martin, and he reaches behind himself. He massages Martin through his clothes, and Martin’s neck cranes, teeth gritted.

“Tell us more, Martin,” Elias says. Martin keens at the authoritative tone of his voice. “What other fantasies have you had?”

Martin moans Elias’s name, head lighter than air. He rambles, in an oversensitive haze, every image he’s wanked to in the last month. The one where Jon locks the door to his office and pushes Martin down on his knees between Jon’s legs, and where Martin can hear the fluttering heartbeat through Jon’s thigh next to his ear as Jon tells him he loves him. The one where Elias sits at his desk in full professional attire—all posh and proper—with Martin tied up on his desk in lingerie like a present and Elias giving Jon orders to just barely give him what he wants until Martin’s weeping while he begs. The most recent one: Elias bending Jon over the shorter length of Jon’s desk and holding him down by the neck for Martin to enjoy. Every dirty thought he’s ever jerked off to comes pouring from between his lips, all while watching Jon’s pupils blow wide, all while Elias touches and scratches and kneads all the spots he knows make Martin messy.

When Martin’s done, his throat feels scratched raw, and his nerves hyperaware—the knot between his legs fit to burst.

“How poetic,” Elias lilts. Martin is so jealous of the way he can sound so composed no matter what. Makes him want— want to—

Elias presses the flat of his hand over Martin’s neck, just barely cutting his breathing. 

“Elias,” Martin moans with his whole chest, going limp with the word. Jon lets out a ragged breath.

“So good with an order,” Elias continues, beaming down at Martin. “Wasn’t that nice, Jon?” 

There’s something like a snarl to Jon’s face, eyes locked on the possessive hand on Martin’s throat. Martin can’t understand how Jon is  _ still _ just standing there.

Then it hits Martin—with such intensity it may as well be his own feeling instead of a thought—that Jon might be frozen with jealousy, glaring green-eyed at Elias’s enjoying Martin.

The idea of Jon, jealous of  _ Elias _ over  _ him _ of all people—pushes Martin over the edge, his entire body going taut with the strength behind his scream. He ruins his second most expensive trousers with a wet patch on the front.

Muscle memory would have him yelling Elias’s name in his throws. He thinks he might’ve said “Jon.” He’s not sure which one would leave him more ashamed.

The world goes white in the aftermath. He melts from marble to wax, muscles giving out under Elias and whimpering as Elias roughly works Martin’s body through to Elias’s own end.

By the time vision begins to return, Elias is already pushing off the desk to stand, backing away.

“Well,” He pretends to fix an imaginary tie, flashing a smirk at Jon. “Statement ends, wouldn’t you say?”

Elias chuckles to himself, collecting his shirt and his vest and striding from the room. He doesn’t even bother to put them back on.

It’s not the first time Elias has left Martin gasping in the afterglow. In fact, it’s his M.O. Martin’s fine with it usually—gives them less of a chance to get caught, though that hardly means anything now—but it never gets any less abrupt, and he always feels stabbed a little by loneliness while his skin cools.

He pushes himself—with a wince—to sit up on the edge of the desk. Martin wrings his hands, and he does  _ not _ look at Jon. He clears his throat just to fill the silence with something, but it hurts his scream-sanded vocal chords.

Martin flinches when the outline of Jon’s figure steps into view, stopping in front of him.

Jon doesn’t say anything, the way Martin fears. Instead, he collects Martin’s own clothing off of the floor and returns with it, not looking at Martin the whole time, cheeks bright red. He even helps Martin put his shirt back on, and it’s sweet, so sweet, it twinges at Martin’s heart in a toothache.

When that’s done, Jon finally looks Martin in the eye. He opens his mouth to say something. Closes it again.

He reaches out, hands hovering over Martin’s shoulders, and Martin’s skin aches for the warmth of someone’s body heat, but Jon doesn’t close the gap. There’s a want in Jon’s eyes too as he watches his own hands, but Martin’s not sure what Jon’s longing for.

Martin must look pathetic: reeking of sex on a coworker’s desk after fooling with his boss’s boss. It’s all but confirmed by what Jon does finally find the nerve to say.

“Is he making you do this?” Jon asks.

There’s something sharp and frozen solid in Jon’s voice. Fury, Martin recognizes.

Martin shakes his head.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m not lying. Or covering for him, or— or anything. It started as a, ah— a streak of boldness after an office party. I’d been drinking and I’d kissed him, and… well… the next day he called me in, and…”

Martin shrugs. The rest is history.

“I’m not scared he’ll… fire me. Or what have you.” He huffs a laugh. “Might be better off if he did, y’know? All things considered.”

Jon stares at Martin, and Martin’s eyes cut to the floor.

“Sorry you walked in on it, though.” Martin grabs at his elbows. “That, uh… I swear I didn’t mean for—”

There’s a feather-light touch below Martin’s head as Jon takes Martin’s chin in hand. Gently—so gently—he tilts Martin’s face up.

Martin can’t stop focusing on the want in Jon’s eyes. Martin longs to lean in and wrap his arms around Jon and never let go, but Jon…

Jon opens his mouth again. Closes it.

Jon’s eyes cut to the floor himself, and he breaks Martin’s heart when he steps away.

“It’s alright,” Jon says. “Just… if you need anything, I’m…”

“Y—” Martin clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Jon walks away, and Martin aches for his hands.

* * *

Martin and Jon sit in a cottage in the Highlands, wrapped around each other cuddling on the couch, when a random thought pops into Martin’s head.

“Do you remember that time when you caught, uh… when I was…  _ with _ Elias, and you—”

Jon’s body goes stiff in Martin’s arms.

“It just occurred to me,” Martin powers through, “I think he was using his avatar powers that whole time.”

There’s a pause, and Martin worries that was the wrong thing to say. He’s ruined a perfectly good moment with a fleeting thought, and—

“That  _ just now _ occurred to you?” Jon asks, a stretch of humor in his voice.

“Wh— Well, yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing! Nothing wrong. Just… you really didn’t think  _ anything _ about that situation was odd?” Martin remembers, while Jon talks, that Elias has the ability to plant someone’s emotions into other’s heads, and a lightbulb warms up in his thoughts. “You said you’d been impatient. Martin, when have you of all people ever been impatient in your whole life? You’ve never been the boldest, either, and yet you were rambling your fantasies like dirty talk is your second job. You—”

Martin’s jaw drops. “You’d been  _ jealous?” _

Jon sputters.

“I—”

“You were jealous!”

Jon looks up from Martin’s chest and pouts at him in what Jon must think is a glare.

“He was—” Jon cuts himself off. He hums. Jon’s been trying to be more outright with his feelings and thoughts lately, which Martin appreciates, especially in seeing how difficult it can be for him. “I wondered at the time,” Jon says, carefully, like he’s afraid of saying it wrong for the possible consequences. “It felt like he’d been gloating, but I thought I was projecting, overwhelmed with a new jealousy I hadn’t even realized I could have.” Jon nuzzles into Martin’s chest. “But he had been.”

“Gloating?”

“Yes.”

“That’s sweet,” Martin says, with the warmth of a candle’s flame shining through. Martin kisses Jon’s forehead. “He may have had that battle, but you won the war, so to speak.”

Jon pushes himself up to kiss Martin proper.

“Yes,” Jon says against Martin’s lips. “I suppose we have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you liked it!
> 
> Jon is relatable to me because the ace mood really is "doesn't realize you're interested in someone until you're literally face to face with the concept of them dating someone else"


End file.
